Time on Privet Drive
by Antigone's Sister
Summary: The Dursleys have new neighbours. Strange neighbours. Crossover with Doctor Who.
1. Prologue

AN: None of the characters - not even Mr. Smith, sadly - are mine. Mr. Smith was not actually supposed to be anywhere near Privet Drive, but he decided he liked it and refused to leave. Either that or my concept of suburban Britain had become hopelessly inseparable from the Dursleys. And, before I change the category to crossover - can anyone guess who Mr. Smith is?

Now published with good spelling.

* * *

Time on Privet Drive

By Antigone's Sister

* * *

Prologue: The Beginning

The occupants of number 4, Privet Drive were proud to say they were very normal, thank you very much.

They lived in a perfectly normal neighbourhood, their son went to a perfectly normal school, in a perfectly normal bus, on which Petunia sent him off every day with the other perfectly normal mothers of the neighbourhood. And Mr. Smith.

Mr Smith, of number 8, Privet Drive, was _not_ normal. In the Dursleys' opinion, he was even less normal than Mrs. Dursley's sister's son, who lived in the cupboard under their stairs, and who was...well. You know. Not really - normal.

For his part, Mr. Smith might have been forgiven for putting his son on the bus himself, since no one had ever seen his wife, and local gossip, which always favours a mysterious, handsome, and _available_ stranger, though that she had probably died. Most likely of a long and tragically lingering illness, or else of a sudden and unexpected accident that had broken Mr. Smith's heart, and had forced him to move himself and his son far away from any tragic and painful reminders.

Mr. Smith certainly looked like someone recently widowed often enough. Mrs. Number 9 had sworn she saw him staring up at the sky one day with _an expression of enormous pathos_, which had _cried out for catharsis_, hopefully in the form of a dashing adventure that had _hubris _involved at some point – Mrs. Number 9 was taking a course in Greek literature, and felt it raised her standing in the world not a little – and Mrs Number 14 said that he'd looked at her _just like that_ when she went to bring him a lovely meatball casserole as a housewarming present.

Sometimes, however, Mr. Smith completely failed to behave like a properly mourning widower. He'd run out of the house at full tilt to grab his son of the bus, and proceed to swing him around like a complete loon before taking him out for a banana sundae, or a trip to the movies, or even, on one memorable occasion, a detailed demonstration of how to make a simple but powerful bomb right out on their front lawn. As if corrupting their children weren't enough, strange bangs and smoke sometimes came from Number 8, with no more explanation than a shouted "Sorry! I'm really sorry!" from out of the upstairs window. Or their strange blue garden shed. Or, once, from out of the chimney. Nobody liked to think what he was getting up to up _there_. And to top it all off, _he never left for work._ As far as anyone could tell, _he didn't seem to have a respectable job at all._

Mrs. Number 9 said he was obviously an enormously clever inventor, and worked for the government, but after his wife died got permission to work at home to take care of his son. Mrs. Number 2 said he was obviously insane. Mrs Dursley said she agreed, but thought something rather different, for a time.


	2. Chapter 1: First Day of School

AN: Have no idea where this is going. Un-beta'd, so I hope my child-voice isn't too irritating.

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Chapter 1: First Day of School

Dudley Dursley hated his new school. He hated having to spend hours and hours away from Mummy. He hated the kids on the school bus, who were bigger and louder than him, and laughed at him when he tried to tell him how awful they were. He hated Miss Allison, his teacher, who never did what he wanted and made him be quiet or sit in the corner and said that his stupid cousin Harry was just as special as him. He wasn't, Harry didn't even have his own lunch packed by his mummy, because _he_ didn't have a mummy. Harry had to eat the lunch the school gave out to the dirty kids that Daddy said were dogs. (Actually, Vernon Dursley had said they were riff-raff, but Dudley thought that sounded like dogs barking.)

But most of all he hated Sam Smith, who giggled at him when he threatened him and said things that Dudley didn't understand and then said he'd called him stupid, but thought that maybe he was too stupid to understand even that. And then, to top it off, Sam had just sat down in front of Harry at the lunch tables – as if Harry were more interesting or better than him or anything like that at all!

Sam was eating his strawberry jam and banana sandwich – which had an extra layer of banana on top for some reason – eating primly for a six-year-old and staring at Harry silently. Harry, who was not used to anyone paying any sort of attention to him that wasn't yelling or hitting, stared just as silently back, looking a bit terrified and very confused.

Finally, after Sam had finished his sandwich, and apple, and most of the sparkly drink he had in his sipper, he pulled out a crinkly paper bag and opened it in Harry's direction.

"Jelly baby?"

Harry, who wasn't ready to stop the staring contest yet, didn't know what to say.

"My dad says you should give people Jelly babies if you want to be friends with them."

Harry shook his head, and looked over his shoulder before answering. "I don't eat babies. That's mean."

Sam kicked his chair. "They're not real babies, silly! It's candy! Take one."

Dudley thought that this was his chance to show Sam who was the stupid one here. He got out of his chair and marched over to Harry's table.

"Harry doesn't get candy," he told Sam.

Sam didn't look like he understood, and he _did_ look like he was going to call Dudley stupid again, so Dudley tried again.

"_I_ get candy. Harry doesn't." He said it as loud as he could so Sam would understand. Then to show him what he meant, he grabbed the bag of (what were they again, Jam Bies?) out of Harry's hand and shoved a bunch in his mouth.

Sam smiled at him, and Dudley smiled back: now Sam understood!

Then Sam turned around, and he suddenly looked more like he was going to cry than anything else.

"Miss Allison! Dudley took my Jelly Babies without a-asking!"

* * *

Later, laying on his cot in his cupboard, Harry tried to decide whether he liked going to school or not.

Sure, the time he'd actually spent at school had been some of the best times he could remember, but some other things had been scary. The big yellow school bus sounded like a hungry animal all ready to eat up any little boys it didn't like, and some big kids on the bus had yelled angrily the whole bus ride. And then they'd been dropped off on a big big lawn – much bigger than Aunt Petunia's – and everyone had run around yelling some more. Harry had tried to make himself invisible and find a small place to hide in until they went away, but people kept on finding him anyway. He even tried to climb up into a twisty red tube, but kids kept on coming down on top of him and yelling at him to move.

But _then_ there was a big loud ringing sound like a giant telephone and most of the other kids ran inside the school. And _then_ Miss Allison had come out and said Hi to everyone!

Harry liked Miss Allison. She called out all their names and told them to follow her and then they all went into the school and into their new classroom. Harry liked the classroom too: it had blue carpet and yellow tables and chairs, and really great pictures on the wall everywhere. Everything was clean and new and shiny, and Harry thought this would make it really easy for him to clean, but nobody even asked him to, so that was even better.

Then Miss Allison read them all a story, and Harry got to sit on the carpet in a circle with everyone else. Then Miss Allison gave them all, even Harry, a chocolate biscuit for a special first-day-of-school snack! Harry thought his new favourite food had to be chocolate biscuits. No wonder Dudley was always asking for some! Harry thought that if he was allowed, he would eat nothing but chocolate biscuits.

They spent the rest of the day colouring, which Harry enjoyed just as much, even when Miss Allison asked them all to write their name on their picture and he was the only one that didn't know how. He drew a lightning bolt like the scar on his forehead instead.

At lunch the really amazing thing happened. Harry was sitting alone at one corner of a table, not wanting to talk to anyone else. Miss Allison had scolded him for forgetting his lunch, but Aunt Petunia hadn't given him one, and then Miss Allison told him not to tell lies, and that he'd have to eat the school lunch, which he shouldn't do because that was only for little boys and girls whose parent's couldn't pack them a lunch and who were hungry a lot at home. Harry said that he went hungry a lot at home and Miss Allison said she would be cross if he kept on telling lies, so he just said okay and went to eat his school lunch alone. But then one of the other boys, called Sam, sat down beside him to eat lunch, and offer him some of his candy! And then Dudley got in trouble for stealing it, and had to go sit in the time-out corner. And Harry played with Sam for the rest of the day, and Sam showed him how to write his name when Miss Allison asked why he didn't know how.

Harry had been scared he was going to get in trouble again when Miss Allison held up his picture and asked who didn't write their name. He didn't want to say in front of the whole class, and have them all laugh at him, so he waited until everyone was playing and Miss Allison was sticking the pictures on the wall to go tell her which picture was his. But then Miss Allison hadn't been angry at all!

"Why didn't you say that you didn't know how to write your name, Harry? Lots of little boys and girls don't when they first come to school."

Harry hadn't known that. He had thought that maybe he wasn't smart enough for school since he was a freak like Aunt Petunia said. He didn't tell the teacher this, though, remembering lunchtime.

"Dunno," he said instead. He looked at the little potted plant on the window, tugged on his shirt, and wished Miss Allison would stop looking at him and say something.

"We're going to learn all our letters properly tomorrow, Harry. You'll fit in fine with everyone else then."

And then Sam had said "No, he won't," and Harry jumped because he didn't know anyone was behind him. And then he said that Harry would still be behind because everyone was moving forward in a _li-neer_ manner and Harry had started behind everyone, like in a race, and other people like Sam had a head-start, but Harry had lost his shoe and couldn't find it to start running because the ground was muddy. So unless Harry ran really fast to catch up he'd always be behind.

But that was alright, Sam said before Miss Allison could say anything, because he'd teach Harry himself, since Miss Allison was apparently more interested in getting them all to scratch out meaningless doodles and waste the school's resources of construction paper than actually teaching them anything. And after he got back from sitting in the chair in corner Dudley had spent half of lunch time in, he did.

Harry thought Sam must be a _child ge-ni-us_ like on the telly show Aunt Petunia had been watching last week, but then Sam said he was in such a way that Harry thought he really meant the opposite.

But then when Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon came to pick him and Dudley up for ice cream, (ice cream for Dudley, Harry usually stayed in the car when they went out for ice cream, and staged complicated battles between whatever action figures Dudley left behind in the back seat) Miss Allison asked them whether Harry had some sort of learning disability, since Dudley knew his letters and he didn't.

Aunt Petunia had said she often thought he might, but hadn't wanted to get him tested. But then Miss Allison showed them the pictures they had both drawn, and said that maybe Harry was a bit _ah-tizzic, _because he was clearly much more creative than Dudley. And after they left the school Uncle Vernon had knocked him on the head for drawing attention to himself and thinking he was better than Dudley. This reminded Dudley about lunchtime, and so Harry got put into his cupboard without supper.

So Harry didn't know if he liked school or not. But he thought he'd like to see Sam again.


	3. Chapter 2: Secrets

Don't own any of the characters so far.

Exams being over, hopefully I'll get more work done on this - crosses fingers -

Chapter 2: Secrets

Sam Smith was one of the last children to get off the bus, and one of the only first years that afternoon. He was sitting up front, backpack neatly on his lap, and his bulky child's jacket getting in the way and annoying him. He could feel the zipper doubling back on itself between his shirt and his bag no matter how he tried to arrange it. He thought he remembered wearing less annoying clothes, once, well-fitted shirts and suit jackets, precise and exact. But he doesn't have any suits in his closet, and Dad told him he should stop thinking so hard about the fragments of memory that are all he has of his life up to a few months ago. Dad says they'll come back on their own, or not, but that straining himself could hurt him.

It funny, but sometimes Sam thinks that his Dad used to look quite different too, though he can never quite decide what he used to look like.

Dad is waiting for him when he gets off the bus, grinning and rocking on his heels as if he were the kid on his first day of school. Sam is torn between annoyance, which seems more like a habit so ingrained that he's forgotten when it started, and the infectious excitement with which Dad picks him up for a hug.

"First day of school, Sammy-boy! How was it? Have you made any friends yet? Did you like your teacher?"

Sam huged back, clinging on to Dad, and tries to think of an answer to the rapid-fire questions. He isn't really as excited as he thought he'd be after starting school, which he's been looking forward to for as long as he can remember. Though with his memory problems, that isn't really saying much. He's nowhere near as excited as Dad is. It's just that everything about school had seemed so familiar and boring. Even getting that greedy fat kid in trouble had been almost mindless.

"Okay, I guess. I thought it'd be different."

"Ah, well," said Dad. He looked like he wanted to say more but couldn't find the words.

"I did make a friend," Sam added, because he thought Dad looked worried. It seemed to be the right thing to say, though, since Dad perked right up.

"That's great! You always need friends around, that's what I always say. What's your friend called?"

He really should have expected Dad to ask that, but he hadn't been thinking much past the worried look on his face. He supposed he could call Harry a friend.

"His name's Harry. He lives close, number 4."

"That's great! We'll the family over some time. Your Aunt Sarah told me – " but Dad cut off.

Sam generally liked Aunt Sarah. A lot of Dad's friends didn't seem to like him, but she was always friendly. And Cousin Luke and his friends took him to the park. They'd lived with Aunt Sarah for a while, until Dad got things sorted out. That was back before they moved to Surrey, right after Sam woke up after being sick for so long.

"Aunt Sarah said what?" he asked, because Dad said Aunt Sarah's advice was usually good, and Sam found that it usually had good results for him.

"Ooooh – nothing important, just that I should be friendly with the neighbours. Said that it's better in the long run, despite the trouble."

"What trouble?" Well, Dudley was definitely trouble, and Sam didn't like the idea of having him over, but he thought Dad was thinking about something else. Not that he was going to actually _tell _him.

"You know, Sam, neighbour trouble, always coming over, asking questions, giving you meatball casserole – " he made a face, and Sam agreed. The meatball casserole was currently fertilizing their scraggly garden. He could see a chunk of ground beef poking out from behind the overgrown shrub beside the door as Dad juggled him around, trying to find the right key.

"Here we go! Found you at last," Dad exclaimed finally. Sam swung through the air and landed on the stairs. He could hear Dad running through the complex locks on their door as he ran upstairs to his room. He wanted to hide the packet of drawings Miss Allison had let him take home with him. She'd said they were very creative, but he didn't think Dad would be very happy if he saw them.

Listening hard to make sure Dad wouldn't come upstairs and surprise him, he crawled under his bed, slid away the loose baseboard, and stuffed the rolled-up drawing into the hole in the wall. He grabbed the double-sided tape he'd taken from the kitchen and taped the board back in place so it wouldn't fall off on its own.

He'd pulled the baseboard off the day after they'd moved in, when he was sure his bed would stay where it was, providing extra cover for his hiding place. He didn't know why he felt he needed a hiding place so much. He and Dad never fought, exactly. Whenever Sam got really mad about something Dad would crouch down and put a hand on each temple. Though they'd later have a talk about whatever it was, he always calmed down right away.

By the time Dad finished with the locks and whatever else had caught his attention and came to get Sam, he was sitting on his bed with some doodles of the toy soldiers vs. T-Rexes battle he and Harry had had.

"What's this?" Dad asked, sitting down on the bed beside Sam. Sam watched his face as he looked at the pictures. It looked like Dad didn't like these either, though he was trying very hard to hide it.

"Me'n Harry had a toy soldier and dinosaur battle after snack-time. These are my battle plans."

Dad grinned. "Always the planner, my Sam." He traced the line of one of the rows of soldier with his finger.

Sam bit his lip. He'd thought that the dinosaur battle was pretty innocent. Apparently it wasn't. He'd have to come up with something else.

* * *

It was late at night and Sam was supposed to be asleep. The rain was keeping him up. Well – actually it was the thunder and lightning that was keeping him up. He was hiding underneath the covers, trying to convince himself not to go find Dad. He didn't want to tell him he was scared.

Thunder cracked _right above his head_ and, suddenly, he changed his mind. He wrapped his blanket around himself to keep himself safe from the monsters under the bed and shuffled as quickly as he could to the door. He crept into the hallway and was about to bump down the stairs when he heard voices. Voices that weren't Dad's.

"...don't know what you were expecting, Doctor," a man was saying.

"Not _this_! Sure, he's always been a bit...insane – but he's never hallucinated anyone before." That was Dad. Sam wondered who they were talking about. He wondered if it was anyone he'd met. Dad knew a lot of strange people; he was willing to bet a whole bunch of them could be insane.

"It might not be a hallucination exactly. It could be another part of himself that's he trying to distance himself from. That he'd choose that specific name – "

Dad interrupted the woman who was talking. Sam recognised her voice: it was Miss Jones, who worked at a hospital downtown and was going to be a doctor.

"No, we don't get D. I. D. I'm not sure you lot get it either, the whole diagnosis is dodgy."

"If you think he's dangerous you should just lock him up in the TARDIS." That was the man again.

"At the very least," the Miss Jones added.

"I'm not doing that," Dad said sharply. "Not until I know what's happening. I'll investigate tomorrow."

"You can't just let this slide, Doctor. If there's the slightest possibility that he could go on another killing spree –"

Sam couldn't help it. He let out a small scream before clapping his hand over his mouth again.

The door to the dining room burst open and Dad ran out, followed by Miss Jones and a man who looked like he had walked through the 4th variable. Sam had no idea what made him think that, or even what that meant.

"Sam! What are you doing there?"

Without meaning to, Sam gripped his blanket harder around himself. "Who went on a killing spree?"

Dad ran a hand through his hair and shot a glare at the other man.

"He's not – don't worry about that – let me worry about that. Why aren't you in bed?"

Sam had completely forgotten why he got out of bed. He thought back. Then "The lightning was really loud." He didn't want to say he was scared, not in front of Miss Jones, who didn't like him, and the other man, who looked as if he really _hated_ him. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

The other blinked and Dad grinned at little. Sam could tell he didn't believe him, but that was alright, as long as he didn't say.

"Come down and we'll have some hot chocolate before you go back to bed."

Miss Jones said to Dad, "Kids shouldn't have sugar, not to mention chocolate, before going to bed," then muttered to herself, "yeah, _that's_ what I find wrong with this situation."

"We'll be going Doctor, it's getting late," the man said.

"Oh, you don't need to go!"

"I have work tomorrow," said Miss Jones, and the man said he did too.

Sam missed the rest of the conversation as Dad shooed him into the kitchen. He heard the three grown-ups saying what must have been goodbyes, and then the door closed.


End file.
